


Journaling

by roseprice612



Series: humanity is for robots, too [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor Deserves Happiness, Existential Crisis, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, This ain’t a ship!! Just father son bonding, androids not being used to feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 09:34:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14850266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseprice612/pseuds/roseprice612
Summary: I christen this profile with dbh fics now !!Anyhow:Connor doesn’t know what feelings are, Hank is basically his dad now, and Sumo just wants scritches.





	Journaling

**Author's Note:**

> Lmao I’m procrastinating writing my other fics by writing new fics Someone stage an intervention for me

It'd only been a month.

Only a month since the final demonstration, since the freedom of the androids, since the liberation of an entire species. Only two weeks had it been since the government passed an Amendment stating androids were conscious and deserve the rights of any other human, only a week since the bill ensuring androids' civil rights. Only a day since Russian soldiers were found in Alaska, armed and hostile.

It'd been a full month since Connor had moved in with Hank, not having had much a choice. Hank had insisted almost violently when Connor politely refused, confused as to why he would offer such a thing.

"'Cause your homeless now, you idiot." Hank had said. "Man, I thought you androids were supposed to be smart."

So then Connor was being corralled back to Hank's small but comfortable home, told he could go anywhere he wanted and could sleep on the couch. If he needed to sleep. Hank wasn't really sure, and Connor supposed he wasn't, either. It was in his programming to be able to sleep, but he never truly felt the need to. He preferred staying up and pondering his new deviance.

"Oh, Jesus." Hank rasped, startling as he walked past the couch. "You're gonna give me a fuckin' heart attack, doing that every night." He leaned over to give Sumo, who laid across Connor's lap, a pat.

"Sorry."

Hank glanced back as he walked into the kitchen, taking out the carton of milk and taking a swig. "What is it this time? Another robotic existential crisis?"

Connor didn't look over from where he stared at the off television. "May I ask a serious question, Lieutenant?"

Hank put the milk back and took a swig of vodka next. "I told you, stop asking that."

Connor let his hand subconsciously scritch Sumo's soft head. His brain was advanced enough to be able to simulate a hundred future possibilities in .005 seconds, he could solve advanced crimes and scan evidence just by looking at it, but he could not seem to form a sentence. At least, not for a few long seconds.

"If I have never felt emotion before... my deviancy, then how am I to identify one from the other?" Connor finally turned his head to look at Hank, who'd put back the vodka and now ate a box a leftover Chinese food. Hank stopped mid-bite to consider what Connor was saying, but something uncomfortable wove through Connor's processors and he stumbled to add on. "I mean to say, that if I have never experienced a certain emotion, how am I to connect it to the word that identifies it?"

Hank huffed a small, "Hm," and set down the leftovers. He wiped his hands on his shirt and narrowed his eyes. "Good point. Well," He leaned on one foot and crooked his head, something Connor knew indicated he was thinking. "When you'd spared that android at Kamski's place, that was empathy."

Connor could remember that feeling well. Seeing himself in her eyes, seeing her beauty and potential to be so much more than an Android. It was a feeling that compressed Connor's chest, that filled him with pressure and unease. "Yes." He muttered, peering back down at Sumo. "I suppose." But then he was thinking about all the other emotions, _there were so many_ , and he got overwhelmed by the immensity of it. Connor let his head fall to his hands, leaning over and resting on Sumo. It helped to close his eyes and cover his ears when this happened, when the tsunamis of overwhelmed thought crashed over him. He could analyze it and say shutting off some sensors helped him focus on one big thing, but trying to analyze something so overbearing was nearly impossible.

Hank was shaking his shoulder, getting tougher when Connor didn't lift his head. "Connor!" Hank shouted, lifting his head himself and making Connor look at him. "Did you stay up all night thinking about this?"

Connor nodded, unsure of where he was going with this.

Hank sighed and stepped away, keeping an eye on Connor. He leaned on one foot again. Thinking. He looked as if he had taken a very large bite out of a lemon, or someone had squeezed said lemon into a cut. "Hold on."

Connor sat and waited (not wanting to stand and make Sumo move) while Hank dug around in the kitchen for something. Connor could see his every movement, hone in on what his hands were grabbing at, and it helped him ignore the unsettling chill hovering over him. Sumo lifted his big head when Hank walked back over with a pen and writing pad.

"What use do I have for a pen and paper?" Connor asked. "I can record terabytes of information-"

"I know, shut up." Hank scolded, frown prevalent on his face as he handed over the pen and pad. "I'm not a fucking psychologist or whatever, but I want you to write down the feeling and if it is good or bad. Writing it, not recording it."

Connor looked over the items. Low-grade paper, cardboard covers, a plastic ballpoint pen with watered-down ink. "How am I to tell if the feeling is bad or good?"

Hank rolled his eyes, leaned forward, and tugged Connor's ear hard. "Was that pleasant?"

"No." Connor rubbed his ear. "It hurt."

"There's your gauge." Hank turned around and left the small living room, probably going back to his room to change. "It'll help if you actually leave the house today, too!"

Connor sat and looked at the paper while Hank went about his business. His right hand brushed through Sumo's thick fur and scratched, and he decided that was a good feeling. His chest felt warm and he felt the compulsive urge to smile. By the time Hank was back in the room, starting a cup of coffee, Connor was grinning wide.

"The fucks wrong with you now?" Hank saw his face and seemed startled by it. "I've never seen you smile like that."

Connor stilled his scratching of Sumo, much to Sumo's dismay, and looked up. "I really am alive?"

Hank grabbed his coffee - black, one sugar - and walked to Connor, stopping in front of him. Sumo lifted his head. "I don't want you getting all emotional now, y'hear? It's all right, you don't have to make such a big deal out of something." He messed Connor's hair and walked to the front door. "Don't be on the couch by the time I get back!"

And he was gone. Sumo whined and looked up at Connor, his eyes telling him to get up too. Even to prove a point, the dog stood and jumped off the couch, shaking and walking to his food bowl expectantly. Connor sighed and stood, pocketing the pen and pad and starting his day.


End file.
